Taylor Made

by Sherryle Kiser Jackson

  He slept late into the next afternoon and joined his mother in the kitchen for what he expected would be part two of his conversation with his dad. He was used to his parents’ tag team. Anything discussed with his dad wouldn’t be repeated here, nor would his dad be present. It was understood. This was her lecture, her inquisition.

  Their kitchen went on for miles, as if the expectation were to feed a legion of folks a night. His mother looked as if she wanted to fulfill that expectation, preparing a healthy-sized brunch for just the two of them.

  “Mom, I can only eat but so much bacon,” Corey said, relishing in the support of the high back island stool directly across from where she was frying. He thought about the mornings he would watch Pill prepare meals like farm-raised catfish and grits. Unlike his wife, his mother never left her pots unattended and didn’t eat until everyone was served. That was Wilma Proctor Taylor. Watching her accommodate others and feeling accommodated were two different things, Corey thought.

  “Your sister is coming over,” Wilma Taylor said.

  Corey noticed her long robe that might be considered an old lady’s housedress except it was silky with a cool motif design. She wore the matching scarf covering her usual soft gray waves. With all their inherited wealth, his mother never seemed to fit the part. Now it seemed she had grown comfortable being a semimillionaire and had gone cosmopolitan on him.

  She paused as if something were on the tip of her tongue. He just hoped it wasn’t an “I told you so” as it related to his marriage.

  “What’s going on with Dani?” Corey asked, slightly irritated he had to share his momma with his older sister. “She can’t cook her own breakfast?”

  “Be kind. She’s beside herself after giving up her teaching position at that private academy waiting on Pop and Rico to start up their new company.”

  “What?” Corey asked, although he knew exactly what the deal had been. Rico had made a promise of the high life to his sister, but failed to deliver. His surprise quickly turned to disgust. “I don’t know why she got involved with that.”

  “I don’t know why you couldn’t help them out, at least until the company got off the ground. You dabbled in business. I declare, I don’t understand you, Corey. You say this is what you want to do, but you don’t take a perfectly good opportunity. Now he doesn’t even know if he wants to continue with the idea. You know your cousin is too busy for all those little details.”

  “Rico should stop being cheap and hire someone then, Ma. Stop making excuses for him. He left your baby girl out in the cold,” Corey said, glad his mother’s back was to him as she replaced the milk in the refrigerator now after dousing a saucepan of oatmeal with it. He rolled his eyes again. “Those private school positions are hard to come by. What does Dani plan to do now?”

  “There is always a need for teachers. She will just have to apply for public school.” Her tone was nonchalant, but she tapped the apple of her cheeks with her fingertips as if that thought worried her as much as it did him.

  “Public school? You know she hated teaching there. Gosh, I’m sorry she didn’t talk to me first,” Corey said.

  “You’re so out of touch now. You stole away with your little bride, and now we barely get a phone call or visit.”

  He watched his mother spoon out the oatmeal to a serving bowl. That was another Wilma-ism. Everything was served family style from the table or plated personally by her. No pots and pans allowed. Matter of fact, most would be washed and put away before brunch began.

  “Well, you should be glad to know my marriage is in ruins then,” Corey smirked. “I know you never cared for her.”

  “We never said that, Corey. You projected that on us. This is Mama you talking about. The only talk in the family is how you courted her in secret. Then you keep her hidden away, as if we’re gonna hurt the little girl. Quite frankly, I’m offended. Why on earth would I be glad to see my son and his wife aren’t getting along? I’m more disappointed than anything.”

  “Disappointed?”

  His mother paused, throwing a dish towel over her shoulder before placing her hand on her hip. “Do you love her?”

  A flash of Pill’s smile crossed his mind. He instantly felt her hand nestled in his hair, which made him shiver. He nodded.

  “What else matters then?” She paused as if waiting on an answer. “You never finish what you start. Never have.”

  Corey watched her resume setting the table as if the case were closed. Anger unexpectedly rose up within him like bile. He knew he wasn’t going to let that comment hang out there uncontested.

  “Did I have to finish anything? Did anyone even care? Your brother made it to the NBA, and then his son became the heir of the family fortune by doing the same. We were all supposed to ride Pop and son’s coattails, right?”

  His mother whipped around and stared at her youngest child as if he were unrecognizable. “Shoot, I cut the fabric for those coattails and stitched them by hand. All of this is delayed gratification for me. As for you, forgive me for making sure you never wanted for anything.”

  “There was one thing I wanted that Uncle Rico couldn’t give me—and that was you, Mom. You put everyone in front of me. How many games did you go see when Pop or Rico played? You had to have seen every one that you could get to.”

  His admission left her bewildered. She sat down at the table that she was dressing. Once again, her fingertips ran circles under her eyes. Corey joined her at the wide table in the adjoining room. He knelt one leg in the padded chair. “Case in point, in twelfth-grade, the one time I competed in something I cared about, something I was proud of, of course Rico came first. Do you remember that, Mom?”

  “I think I remember there was a schedule conflict or two. Oh, but Corey, was that Rico’s play-offs?”

  He cut her off. “The Future Business Leaders of America gave me an award,” Corey said, speaking of the project where he took the plan of a failing business and changed it over to a viable business. “I won the Redevelopment/Flip That Business Award. I probably could have gone on to use that award on an application and scholarship for college, but that was the day . . .” he paused. “That was the day I gave up.”

  His heart accelerated as he took a seat. He was having an aha! moment. This was his epiphany. “You’re right, Mom. I don’t finish what I start. You know what I did instead of pursuing the degree I wanted? I started working for Pop and son like everyone expected me to. I knew then, and only then, would you truly be proud of me.”

  “Baby, it wasn’t that way. Little Rico was our surrogate. His mom could have given two hoots and a quarter about him. I don’t know if you remember, but he was a mess when we first got him. He was as wayward as the day was long, trying to be a tough boy, but he was really chicken inside. Remember? For a long while he used to stay with you in your room. He was afraid to be alone in the dark. Your father used to joke and say that’s the reason he had so many women; he was looking for a mother figure to tuck him in at night.”

  “Yeah, poor Rico,” Corey said through grated teeth.

  “We gave him a stable home. That’s what families do,” his mother said, reaching out for his arm.

  Corey avoided her touch now by standing up quickly, “Yeah, Mom, but at what cost? My dreams and overall self-worth were the collateral damage.”

  Corey felt like he was the motherless child. He had also reached his fill of reality for the day. He had to get out of there. He moved toward the back staircase.

  “Come back here, Corey,” his mother insisted. She met him at the base of the stairs and led him like a little boy back to the table where they stood. Corey felt a great sense of relief in that gesture and finally having his say.

  “I didn’t know you felt neglected in that way, son. I thank God for you and Dani—you both had your heads on straight with a strong moral compass. That meant I could depend on you all doing what’s right because I had my hands full with Rico Jr. It was like 1969 all over again. The year my parents died and I
took responsibility for my siblings was the day my young adulthood ended. I didn’t know a better way to accommodate everyone back then.”

  Corey looked into his mother’s eyes and for the first time noticed how truly weary they appeared.

  “Sit.” She motioned for him to take a seat at the table she had prepared. “You are here now. We are both here now. Your sister is on her way—my children will be here with me. I have some news to share with the two of you.”

  Corey did as she said. He was exhausted anyway; he had to stop running.

  Chapter 31

  Pill was styling on autopilot. She was anywhere but there most days. In her mind, she was in Marriage Maintenance class with the Blains, Reynolds, and Fosters trying to figure out where she and Corey went wrong. Was it finances, their sexual relationship, or any of the other topics they had discussed in class? She knew part of it had to do with their covenant, the very first topic of class. It was the covenant. Deacon Tripp had explained that the covenant was not just between her and Corey, but also between them and God. Neither of them had been very respectful of the terms of their agreement to live as a Christian family.

  Now they were living apart. She felt very much the individual, as if when she and Corey spilt over a week ago the word “we” ceased to exist. She had never been alone. She had always had the support and companionship of her sister, a would-be boyfriend, and then that of her husband. Now she was back to hiding her emotions and guarding her personal business. Shae, who stayed with her the better part of the night that Corey left, was the only one at the shop who knew.

  Shae was sending her a knowing look of concern now from across the salon floor. Pill had been playing a game of seesaw with the pedal on her styling chair all day. It rose and fell when it wanted to. She returned a weak smile to her best friend, assuring her that this was not the event that would further send her over the edge. She motioned for her client, who had to be all of six feet tall, to sit in her stool by taping the padded top, but the woman was still too tall for Pill to complete her updo. The only alternative was chair one, owned by Carmen and operated by no one.

  Pill grabbed her hairpins, rat-tail comb, and finishing sheen. Before she could relocate, Carmen sashayed up the center aisle with her coat on. She stood there stunned as Pill and her client crossed her path almost knocking her over.

  “Oh, Carmen, I’m just going to use your chair for a minute to finish her off.” Pill didn’t bother to stop as she brought her client to her new seat and lowered the seat to the floor.

  “Thanks for letting me know,” Carmen smirked, turning her entire body toward her styling station. She checked her expression in the mirror before continuing. “Why don’t you try telling me what’s wrong with your chair? If it’s broken, we can talk about getting another one. Let’s be an adult and ask for what you need.”

  Pill knew she should let it go. She came to work to forget about everything else and get engrossed in taming heads of hair. That was the one thing she still had control over. They were used to communicating with one another through smiles and clenched teeth. Agree with her, and let her walk out the door, Pill thought, but it wasn’t that kind of day. If Carmen could be casually condescending, so could she.

  “It would make perfect sense for me to occupy the first chair anyway.” Pill spun her client around in Carmen’s direction for dramatic effect, and she teased a tendril or two with the end of her comb before smoothing the rest up toward the top of her head and securing it with pins. “First chair is usually reserved for . . .”

  “The boss,” Carmen said as a warning.

  Pill felt not only Shae’s set of eyes on her, beaming concern, but at least four more pairs, including the woman she was styling.

  “Potential clients come in here all the time to see if we are even open because the chair with the bird’s-eye view of the boulevard is darn near vacant. Now how much business sense does that make?” Pill pointed and several school-age girls passing by stared back at her through the panes of glass. “All I’m saying is having me style right here is free advertisement. Think about it.”

  Pill released a prayer of temperance within a heavy sigh. She felt Carmen approaching, so she set off an arsenal of sheen around her client’s hair to halt her. Oil was not like rain that would dry residue-free on Carmen’s sleek off-white peacoat. Pill was done with her client. She swore she would finish Carmen off too with a can of oil sheen if she didn’t leave her alone.

  Carmen harrumphed, “You can think about cleaning off my station and having my booth fee here on time since we’re giving each other something to think about.”

  Pill felt assaulted. This was beyond unprofessional to her. What had she ever done to Carmen for her to put her business out there for public consumption?

  Just then, Shae walked over and asked to borrow bonding glue, of all the things that were buried deep within her drawer. Pill collected her money from her client and gathered her things, all the while looking at Carmen. Shae waited as if her need were immediate. Pill knew what her friend was doing. Although she was meant to be a distraction, it did little to squelch her anger.

  “I’m tired of her treating her stylists like peons, Shae. She doesn’t appreciate anything we do around here. We didn’t even get a thank you after the hair show. If it weren’t for us, that trophy would have gone to a salon in D.C. or Baltimore somewhere, and she knows it,” Pill said, crossing the salon floor again, talking to Shae and the entire salon in the process.

  For now, Pill and Carmen were separated in their own corner, but the sparing wasn’t over.

  “And that, I’m sure you think, is because of you,” Carmen said from her station. They had widened the ring and the amount of spectators.

  “It was my concept, Carmen, but not only that, it was my skill,” Pill said, tapping her chest, letting Carmen know she would not be the first to back down. Shae and Mercedes were now at Pill’s side, trying to calm her, urging her to back down, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t see what they knew was coming down the pike. Likewise, they couldn’t see what Pill knew to be true. A public debate had to be decided by contest. The only way to silence Carmen was to show her how truly invaluable Pill was to her shop and its clientele.

  “We can test it out any day you want,” Pill said. “How about next Saturday, a week from today? You can book some clients, if you still have any, and we will let everyone in here cast their vote. Who styles the best, chair one or chair six? Please don’t try to back me into a corner, either, by having me do just weaves. Tell Ms. Theresa to book my schedule full—all services—perms, wraps, cuts. All services.”

  Ms. Theresa got up from the receptionist desk at the mention of her name. She motioned with both hands for them to bring their volume down, as if those seated in the front lobby and even outside could hear them. Candy and Deena just gawked.

  “Someone should ask her what’s her specialty,” Pill said more confident now that Carmen’s back was turned, if only temporarily.

  After making sure her station was returned to order, Carmen turned to face Pill again. “My specialty is managing my salon, and I am no longer in need of your unappreciative, mooching behind or your services.”

  That was the uppercut Pill didn’t see coming. It was a TKO. With no man and no job, she was down for the count.

  Chapter 32

  Going to counseling was not on Corey’s list of things to do. First Lady Rawls had insisted though. She had talked to Pill after they both skipped church and Marriage Maintenance class. Pill must have given her his parents’ number. First Lady was incensed to find out they were living apart and demanded he take the entire day off on Monday for their regular session. He knew it made no sense disagreeing with her, but he didn’t want to negotiate that time off with his job on such short notice. He remembered First Lady lighting into him saying, “Now if I had tickets to a game or an opportunity for an all-expenses-paid vacation, you’d be there. How much more does this marriage mean to you, Mister Man?”

&nb
sp; So much had happened to him inside and outside of their relationship that First Lady wasn’t aware of. It made working on his marriage seem tedious and useless, especially after what his mother had shared with him and his sister. Once again, he thought he couldn’t keep running. He arrived early and was sitting there silently with First Lady Rawls, listening to an upbeat gospel CD as if it were meditation music.

  Then Pill arrived. She took her coat off to reveal a plain pair of stonewashed jeans and a long gray tunic with Mary Jane pumps. Simple. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her so understated, even around their home, that he wondered if that was a statement in and of itself. He had to look away before his longing for her betrayed him.

  Pill stood for a moment as if she thought First Lady was going to offer her alternative seating. Eventually she took to the edge of the love seat. Her purse was used as a barrier between them in case she slid into the middle. He hadn’t noticed before, but her blouse had a contrasting black ribbon on the same shoulder she balanced her chip on. Neither one of them bothered to greet each other. They all sat there and stared at nothing in particular.

  First Lady made the first move. She turned up the dial on her miniboom box and started to jam to the current selection playing on the radio. It was a party of one. Corey and Pill glanced at each another briefly. Maybe she was trying to lighten an already-tense mood, Corey reasoned. He kept Pill in his periphery but could tell she was not amused. She looked a little uncomfortable.

  “Listen,” First Lady instructed. She began to sing the refrain, “There is nothing too hard for God.”

  Corey identified the group as the choir led by Hezekiah Walker. He thought he’d heard the Dominion choir sing a rendition of that song.

  “They must sing this chorus part over a hundred times. I used to think his songs were too long until I needed to hear what he was saying. I was down on my knees praying one day, and this song was on. Around about the fiftieth refrain, it hit me. I rose from my knees and got confirmation—the power belongs to God.” A wide smile covered her face, and she waved her hands above her head as if God had joined her party.